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In the hours after, Buck will notice the gravel in his shoes. He will take stock of the tear in the knee of his jeans and the gap in his shirt where a button went missing from its row as he dragged himself under the truck. He will feel the abrasions on his wrists, his palms, his shins, the indentations of asphalt and bits of broken glass.
But for now, there’s only Eddie. His six-foot build and gushing blood. It’s all-encompassing. There is no room for anything else.
Buck barely hears the voice of protest at his back. It’s negligible, white noise on deaf ears. Nothing short of being knocked unconscious could prevent him from reaching his partner. Buck wraps an arm around Eddie’s waist, using his own body as both a shield and a line to reel him in.
It’s not always advisable to move a gunshot victim. There are things to consider - spinal injury, shrapnel, blood flow. But as bullets continue to ping off metal, Buck doesn’t see another option. Eddie’s eyes are closed. His head bobs lifeless, back and forth with every tug.
On the other side of the truck, Buck straddles Eddie’s waist. He can’t keep his hands from trembling but still manages to rip open Eddie’s shirt, to press their inadequate mass against the open wound. Eddie’s eyes are closed, but his skin is still warm, and the blood pumping out of the hole in his shoulder is hotter still.
“Eddie,” Buck says, voice muffled beneath the rush of his own heartbeat. Once he starts, it’s hard to stop. “Eddie, Eddie, come on. Eddie, please,” he begs, doesn’t know exactly what he’s asking for.
Eddie’s eyelids crack open, and he lets out a weak moan. He’s alive for now. It’s something, a single strand of hope, even as Buck watches his eyes roll back into his head.
He wishes that Hen and Chimney were here, to measure Eddie’s pulse, to get him on a gurney. He yearns for Bobby’s authority and instruction, the anchor of his hand at Buck’s back. It’s a selfish thought because that would be putting them all in danger. But here, alone, he feels so helpless.
There are moments that he will not be able to recall after the fact. Loading Eddie into the ambulance. Stumbling into the hospital.
Buck comes back to himself in flashes, while wrapping Eddie’s limp fingers tightly in his. The cardiac monitor signaling its confirmation that Eddie’s heart is beating, too fast. Someone looping a mask behind Buck’s ears, pushing him through the doors of the ER.
Eddie has two agents named on his medical power of attorney - his abuela and Buck. It’s not a surprise, but something they discussed together, after Shannon’s death and Buck’s close call. It was practical. If one of them was going to get hurt on the job, nine times out of ten, the other would be there too.
So before they prep Eddie for surgery, the doctors come to Buck for approval, as if he would ever refuse Eddie’s care, like he isn’t ready to go back to the operating room himself.
He’s fully vaccinated, and they allow him to stay in the waiting room. They hand him a plastic bag of Eddie’s personal items - his watch, his phone, his St. Christopher medallion.
The reality hasn’t set in yet. Somewhere far away, Buck can recognize that he’s in shock. All of the sights and sounds, even his thoughts, are being filtered through a fishbowl, distorted. One minute he’s listening to Taylor Kelly’s voice from the tinny speaker system of a hospital television - Shots fired in downtown LA - and the next minute, it’s coming from right next to him, live and in-person.
“Buck,” Taylor says. He blinks up at the vibrancy of her red hair, the mask tucked under her chin, fuchsia lipstick in the shape of his name. “Buck, are you with me?”
“How…?”
“Channel 8 was first on the scene. I came as soon as we wrapped. The other station got in contact with Bobby, and someone should be on the way.”
“Oh,” Buck mouths dumbly. The blood on his hands has dried into a reddish brown, bits flecking off whenever he closes them. It’s starting to get itchy.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Taylor says.
She guides him into the men’s room and holds his wrists under the soap dispenser, like he's an uncooperative child. She hands him paper towels, dry then damp then dry again. Buck dabs at his neck, his face. It’s only when he gets a look at his own reflection that he starts to crack.
“I-” he starts, eyes fixed on the spot of rust below his ear. “I can’t lose him.”
“Buck, it’s going to be okay.”
Buck has known Taylor Kelly for a while, and she’s never been one to mince words, especially not with him. She’s interested in the facts, blunt to a fault. But from the grimace on her face and her unsteady tone, he can tell she’s just trying to comfort him. The words are empty because she doesn’t believe them.
Taylor reaches out to pat his arm, and Buck shrugs her off, backing up until his spine hits the outside of the nearest stall.
“Eddie is...he’s family, Taylor. And I-” his breath catches, the prelude to an onslaught. “God, I’m going to have to call his abuela. And Carla. And Ana. I’m going to have to tell his son .”
“You don’t have to. Bobby can do that. Or the hospital can contact them, Buck. They probably already have.”
“No, no, it should be me. I’m his partner. It should be me.”
“Buck, you can barely stand.” She’s right. He’s bent at the knees, clean hands pressed to his thighs over bloodstained jeans. But he doesn’t need to stand to make a phone call. “Let’s go sit down.”
“I can’t lose him, Taylor,” Buck repeats. Maybe one day, he’ll be embarrassed about showing such vulnerability, about the words he can’t stop from spilling any more than his tears. “He’s my...he’s everything.”
There’s something like acknowledgement in Taylor’s gaze. “I know,” she says, and allows Buck to fall into her, in a not-quite hug, fists clenched stubbornly at his sides.
When Buck is back in his cold, plastic seat, Taylor leaves to grab coffee. She could just as easily send her cameraman after it. Buck can recognize the excuse for what it is - to give him privacy. When he slides Eddie’s phone from its bag, it lights up with a text. From Ana.
I heard about a shooting on the news. Are you okay?
He’s dialing back before he can think, barely has time to clear his throat before the call connects, and a woman’s voice is answering, “Edmundo, I’m so glad to hear from you.”
Buck presses the back of his forearm to the line of his brow. “Hi, Ana,” he says. “This is Buck. Uh, Evan Buckley. I’m-”
“I know who you are,” Ana says, then surmises, “It was him.” Waits for him to deny it.
Buck gives her the necessary details - the hospital, the floor number - in as few words as possible. She promises to be there as soon as she can. The next call to Carla is harder. She’ll be the one picking Christopher up from school. His conversation with Pepa is worse still.
Taylor returns with coffee that Buck can’t taste. She sits next to him and scrolls through her phone, as Buck hunches forward, face buried in his hands. Even though she’s not the one Buck wishes were beside him, he’s grateful to her. As the people who love Eddie begin to trickle in, she does the talking for him.
He wakes in an unfamiliar bed, being prodded by unfamiliar hands. There’s a needle in his arm and a cannula in his nose. He has to fight the urge to rip it out, winces when he finds his right arm immobilized.
“Easy there.” Eddie’s eyes crack open to harsh overhead lighting. There’s a man dressed in scrubs, wearing the badge of an RN, replacing his IV drip. “Do you remember how you got here?”
“Shot,” Eddie grumbles. After leaving the military, he never thought he’d have to say that again.
“That’s right. And your name?”
“Eddie Diaz.”
“Date of birth and today’s date?”
He answers both correctly. The nurse smiles. “You came in with a GSW to the right shoulder.”
“Traumatic pneumothorax?”
“You got it. Army medic, right?” Eddie makes a weak attempt at a nod. “Well the good news is, the bullet didn’t hit any major arteries. And it doesn’t seem you sustained any brain injury from lack of oxygen. I’ll let Dr. Odell give you the full rundown, but your surgery went well. You’ll be back on your feet in no time.”
It is good news. He should care more. Maybe he’s still disoriented, but the only thing on his mind is Buck, lying on the pavement, face splattered in red.
“Where…?”
“I think your partner is waiting outside. Let me go check.”
Eddie sighs, melting back into his pillow. He’s okay. They’re both okay. But when the door cracks open, it’s not Buck on the other side.
Ana gifts him with a smile when she sees that he’s awake, but it disappears when it goes unreturned. “I’m not who you were expecting, am I?”
Eddie is too exhausted to pretend otherwise. “Where is Buck?”
“He’s safe,” Ana says.
“His face...there was so much blood.”
“All yours,” Ana assures. She sits down in the seat at his bedside but doesn’t reach for him. He’s not sure why that brings him relief. “He was pretty upset, but Taylor Kelly was able to convince him to go home and change.” Then she chuckles to herself. “You didn’t tell me you were friends with local celebrities.”
Eddie snorts softly. “We’re not friends. She’s Buck’s... friend.”
“Ah,” Ana intones, like she doesn’t know how to respond, and Eddie can’t blame her. But he has a good enough reason for any remaining grudge against the reporter, even if the rest of his team seems to have forgiven and forgotten.
“There’s a funny story about when she first came to the 118 to profile our team. I’ll tell it to you sometime.”
“Sure, Edmundo. I’d like to hear it.”
“I, um, thank you for coming,” he slurs, fading fast. There are other questions he should be asking, probably. Now that he knows Buck wasn’t hurt, everything else seems minimal.
“Of course,” Ana says. “I was worried about you. I can’t imagine what Buck must have felt watching it happen. What Christopher must feel.”
“Christopher,” Eddie gasps. How could he be so thoughtless? The cadence of his monitor shifts in time with his frantic heart. He flinches forward, then hisses at the sharp pull in his shoulder, radiating into his chest. Ana’s face pales. “I have to...do you know what happened to my phone?”
“Don’t worry,” Ana replies, shaking her head. “Buck has it. And he should be with Christopher now. We all thought the news would be best coming from him.”
That knowledge is as good as a tranquilizer. The fear drains from him in an instant.
“Are you in pain? Should I go find your nurse?”
A long hum is all Eddie can manage before he slips back under.
He dreams of buried treasure. Of he and Buck in the dirt, shovels chipping away at rock and soil. It’s just the two of them, no Taylor Kelly or camera crew or desperate Los Angelenos to get in the way.
In the dream, they’re dressed in plain clothes. Buck’s white shirt is tight, and the muscles of his back flex with every dig. There’s mud speckled across his face, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Eddie feels clammy all over. He runs a hand over his forehead, but it comes away dry.
At the same time, their shovels hit something, metal scraping against metal. They unearth a chest. It’s smaller than Eddie expected and unadorned. Buck makes quick work of the lock, snapping the shackle off clean. They open the lid together and peer inside.
In the box rests a red lump of muscle and adipose tissue. It’s small, the size of his fist, and it thrums like a living thing.
“It’s mine,” Eddie says, in the dream.
He doesn’t know how he recognizes it, something that belongs within, that he’s only known to beat inside his chest. He looks down at his own torso and is surprised to see the dark color of his uniform, the hole visible at his center and the bloom of blood saturating the fabric.
“No way,” says Buck. “ We found it together.”
“It’s my heart,” Eddie insists. “It belongs to me.”
“It’s mine too,” Buck says, and he seems so sure. It’s nearly enough to convince him. “We’ll split it 50/50.”
“Buck,” Eddie murmurs, outside of the dream, and he hears the approaching footsteps, the weight of a body settling into a chair.
“I’m here, Eddie. I’m right here. You’re okay.”
He fights against the pull of sleep to open his eyes. The first thing he focuses on is the sienna color that Buck wears so often, stretched across the breadth of a chest. It’s easy to identify, from how often Eddie finds himself across from it, aligned to it. His eyes trail up the column of a pale neck, into the faintest indication of stubble, the square definition of a jaw, petal pink lips, and glassy blue eyes.
“Good,” Eddie says. The meaning of the word is unclear, even to him. It’s good that Buck is safe, that Buck is here with him. They work best when they’re together. “Hi.”
“Hey,” Buck says on a weak chuckle, liquid emotion at the fringes. He clears his throat, sucks in a breath through his nose. “You had us scared back there.”
“M’fine.”
“Right, obviously. Gotta get back on your feet. Don’t expect me to cover your shift this Friday. It’s my night with Jee-Yun.”
Eddie makes a noise that passes for laughter. “Asshole.”
Then, as if Buck is reading Eddie’s mind, he says, “Chris is okay. I let him know you wouldn’t be coming home tonight. He’s with his bisabuela now, already working on your get well card.”
“Thanks.”
“I told him we could visit tomorrow afternoon, if you’re feeling up to it. If you don’t mind me picking him up from school.”
“Trust you.”
“Yeah, I-I know,” Buck quavers. “I’ll always have your back.”
Eddie feels his fingers twitch against the scratchy hospital sheets before he’s able to put thought behind their actions. They creep to the end of the bed, to the hard plastic rail. It’s his bad shoulder, so the movement is slow, stilted.
“Tried to reach you,” Eddie says. “But you were so far away.”
Buck meets him at the edge of the bed, threading their fingers together. His skin is warm, compared to Eddie’s. He squeezes gently, without pulling. There’s a gap of missing flesh and muscle in Eddie’s chest, sealed tenuously with gauze and tape, but Buck manages to fill the hole somehow.
“I’m sorry I didn’t...that I wasn’t faster. That I couldn’t prevent-”
“Wasn’t your fault. And you pulled me under the truck. I remember.”
“I didn’t know what else to do,” Buck sniffs, trying to contain it. His face turns away, crumbling into the sleeve of his unoccupied arm. “God, Eddie.”
“Hey,” Eddie soothes. “You don’t have to hide.”
Buck extricates himself, careful but abrupt. “Chimney and Hen are waiting down in the lobby. Bobby was here too, just stepped out to call Athena. Can I send them up?”
“Sure,” Eddie nods, confused.
His eyes follow Buck as he leaves, then break away when he hears a soft sigh. He turns his head and finds Ana seated on the other side of his bed. Her chair is pulled back to the wall, next to a tray table covered in documents. She has her nylon stockings tucked under her skirt, heels kicked off under her chair. She’s holding a red pen.
“You’re here,” Eddie breathes. “You didn’t have to stay.”
“Well, I had a supply budget to review so…”
“One day, you’re fighting for new textbooks, and the next...you’re denying poor teachers their new overhead projectors,” Eddie jokes.
That pulls a grin out of her. “No one uses overhead projectors anymore.” She exaggerates an eye roll. “But you’re right. It’s no fun being the bad guy.”
“Can imagine.”
They rest in silence for a moment. It’s not awkward but not quite comfortable either. Ana stares at him, and he tries to hold her gaze. Fails.
Her legs unfold. She slides on her heels and straightens her skirt. Papers are collected and slipped into an oversized tote.
“Can I get you anything? Are you thirsty?” she asks.
Eddie licks at his lips, tongue sticking to dry skin. Ana grabs the Styrofoam cup from where it’s resting on the windowsill and holds the straw to his mouth. He takes a few shallow gulps, thanks her.
“You’re welcome.” She sets the cup on the table and wheels it close enough for him to reach with his good arm. “It’s getting late. Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you. For Christopher.”
“Okay,” he says. “But you don’t have to go.”
“Do you want me to stay?” Ana asks. Eddie doesn’t have a good response. Not one that’s true.
“I’m just tired,” he says. It’s not exactly a lie.
“I understand,” she says. “Edmundo, I’m not the kind of person who bails when things get hard. But I’m not one to overstay my welcome either.”
“Ana…”
“This isn’t an ultimatum. You’re a great guy, an amazing father. I enjoy spending time with you and Christopher. I just wonder if we’re moving in a meaningful direction.”
“I want to be. I want this to work,” Eddie says. Everything inside him is telling him to hold on, but it’s hard to know whether the urge is rooted in love or in fear. He’s failed before. Disastrously. He promised himself that he would never do that to Christopher again.
“Sometimes wanting isn’t enough,” she sighs. “I’m here if you need me. I’ll try if you want to, if it’s for the right reasons. But if you want space, I can give you that too. I’ll let you decide.”
“That’s not fair.” To his own ears, his voice sounds small and pathetic.
Ana kisses his forehead. It feels like a goodbye. “Think about it.”
When Bobby’s arms are around him, it’s hard to stop crying.
“It’s okay, kid,” Bobby tells him, surrounding Buck’s shuddering form. “He’s a fighter. He’ll pull through.”
Buck is hyperaware of the people standing around them. Taylor. Ana. Eddie’s aunt and one of his cousins. Hen and Chimney are still at work, out on a call, otherwise they would be here too, witnessing his meltdown. He’d rather it were them.
“B-Bobby,” Buck stutters, trying so hard to steady his breathing. When he pulls back, Bobby’s eyes are red too, but he’s able to compartmentalize, for the sake of everyone else. Buck wishes he were built that way sometimes, with more steel in his spine.
“Let’s go back to your apartment,” Taylor suggests. “Get you changed into some clean clothes before you see the kid.”
She’s right. Of course, she’s right. Buck shouldn’t be standing here, in front of Eddie’s family, dressed in Eddie’s blood, weeping like he has any entitlement.
“I’ll go ask the nurse if they have any updates, and then Taylor can give you a ride home,” Bobby says.
Buck scrubs at his face. “Sounds good, Cap.”
When Bobby walks away, Buck sways, but Taylor’s at his elbow. She makes it look natural, like a comforting hand instead of a crutch. She’s probably mortified at Buck’s behavior but does a good job of hiding it. She continues to hold up her end of the bargain, to be a good friend.
Buck looks up at the rest of them, their eyes cast studiously away.
“I’m sorry, Pepa,” he says.
“What are you apologizing for?” Pepa asks. “You’re his family too. I’d give you a hug, but I’d prefer to stay dry.”
Buck laughs sheepishly, scratches at the back of his blushing neck.
In the news van, on the way back from the hospital, Taylor stares at him, like she’s figured something out. Like he’s one of her sources, and she’s expecting him to verify a question she hasn’t asked.
“What?”
Taylor smiles. Her curls have almost fallen out entirely, lipstick mostly gone, mascara slightly smudged. “The universe is calling, Buckley.”
“Well tell it to hang up,” Buck grumbles.
“You have to let him know,” she says.
“Who? Eddie?”
Taylor nods. “How much he means to you.”
Buck scoffs, looks out through the window into the night sky, punctured by city lights. “He knows that. He’s my best friend.”
“That you love him,” she clarifies.
A shiver runs up his spine, his neck, prickling the hairs at the crown of his head. “No,” he says, reflexive.
“No, as in I’m wrong? Or no, as in you aren’t going to tell him?”
Buck isn’t sure.
Christopher takes the news well, all things considered. Buck didn’t know how it would go. To a kid like Christopher, whose father was in the army, the danger isn’t so foreign. His dad was shot twice before and lived, didn’t he? But Buck also has to remember that Christopher lost a mother. He’s no stranger to the reality of death.
Buck is honest with him, doesn’t sugarcoat the seriousness of what happened, but keeps the outlook positive. Chris pulls out his 4th grade science book, flips to human anatomy. He asks Buck to point to where his dad was shot and takes comfort that it wasn’t close to his heart.
While Carla helps Christopher pack his overnight bag, Buck takes a quiet moment to fall apart, then pulls himself back together.
He feels...bulldozed. Beyond exhaustion. He drops Christopher off at his great-grandma’s house and contemplates falling asleep at the wheel of his Jeep, right in their driveway.
There’s a warm bed calling his name. A comforting embrace from his older sister. The fresh baby smell from the downy hairs of his newborn niece. But one desire eclipses them all.
When all is said and done, Eddie is in the hospital for six days. In that amount of time, a four alarm fire nearly costs the 118 the life of their captain. The sniper is caught. Athena takes the shot and pulls Bobby to safety, against all odds.
Everyone involved with the sniper case has been sent on a mandated two-week leave. Based on his doctor’s estimate, Eddie won’t be allowed back at work for at least two months, if he makes a full recovery and attends department counseling. Right now, he can’t imagine going out on a call, but he’s sure that in no time at all, the boredom will have him climbing the walls.
Buck is the one to drive Eddie home. No one fights him for the privilege - they all know it would be a losing battle. Eddie is too tired for a welcome home party, but Christopher insists on balloons and cake, of which Eddie eats exactly one bite before he gets nauseated and has to go lie down.
“It’s the painkillers,” Eddie groans, as Buck props him up with more pillows than Eddie knew he owned. “I’m throwing them out.”
“Eddie.”
“Tylenol will be fine.”
He allows Buck to help him out of his shirt, to peel off the wound dressing and dab with lukewarm water, slather with ointment and replace the bandage. His fingers are rough in texture but tender in movement. Eddie’s eyelids start to droop.
“Do you need anything else?” Buck asks. “Water? Ice?”
“Get the light?”
Eddie feels the warmth of Buck’s palm caress the top of his head. If only he had enough energy to open his eyes. Then it’s gone, and Buck is walking to the bedroom door, flipping the light switch.
“Call me if you need anything.”
Narcotics have always given Eddie vivid dreams. It seems like he’s tossing and turning all night, flipping from one hallucination to the next. Gunshots, sewage pipes, treasure hunts. Through them all, the only constant is Buck. Dragging Eddie to safety. Taking the bullet in his place. Underwater, underground, forty feet deep.
He wakes up somewhere in the middle of it, panting, sweat dripping from his brow, kicking off blankets. That’s when he hears the footsteps in the hall. They pause outside his door for a minute or two. The door creaks open, just a hair. Then they retreat. It happens again an hour later, and again the night after.
Each morning, Buck helps Eddie change and clean, even though Eddie is slowly gaining mobility. He and Buck sit across from each other at the kitchen table, over breakfast. Christopher chatters on about school, and Buck says the right things in response, just lacking his usual enthusiasm. Eddie notes the dark circles under Buck’s eyes, matching his own. The food on both of their plates goes untouched.
There’s something dark hanging over their heads. Anguish, guilt, residual fear. They’re both dealing with the pain alone, while under the same roof. It’s suffocating.
So the next time Eddie hears the figure lurking in the hall, he calls it by its name.
Buck peeks his head in, shamefaced. “Everything okay?”
“Could ask you the same thing.”
“Sorry,” says Buck. “Did I wake you?”
“No,” Eddie says truthfully. “I haven’t been sleeping very well. Keep getting these muscle spasms. And my dreams have been crazy.”
“Mmm,” Buck hums. “It was the same for me, after the bombing.”
Eddie wishes he had been a gentler person back then, that he hadn’t written off Buck’s distress as self-absorbed moping. He was raised to avoid admitting to weakness, but the need to prove his strength only led to some of the worst decisions in his life.
“You should come in,” Eddie invites, and Buck accepts. He’s dressed in a grey t-shirt, plaid boxers. His hand lingers on the door knob. Eddie motions to the other side of the bed. “Lie down.”
Buck obeys, but he settles on top of the covers, rather than sliding beneath them.
“I’m right here,” Eddie says. It’s the same assurance Buck gave him, in the hospital. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Better not,” Buck huffs. And then, “I need you.”
It’s not the first time Eddie has heard those words in bed, but it was never quite like this.
“Sorry, I-” Buck backpedals.
“You have me,” Eddie says.
In the silence that follows, in the stillness of the night, Eddie feels more at peace than he has in weeks. He listens to Buck’s breathing slow down, steady out. Allows it to lull him to sleep.
Buck returns to work, and Eddie doesn’t. He knows it’s only temporary, and he’s still staying at the Diaz house while Eddie recovers. But that doesn’t mean he can’t miss having Eddie at his side, his reliable presence, unchanging. Someone to always have his back.
Hen and Ravi seem to be in good spirits. Bobby is maybe more solemn than usual, but otherwise even keel. Whatever tension remained between him and Athena fizzled out with the smoke and flame. The only one who seems much worse for wear is Chimney of all people, and the cause isn’t related to work.
“It’s Maddie,” Chim says. “The doctor said these sorts of symptoms can be common after giving birth, with the fluctuation of hormones and lack of sleep. It’s just hard to see her so unlike herself. And it happened so fast. When we brought Jee-Yun home, we were so happy.”
Buck feels sick with it, so caught up in his own heartache, he’s neglected to support his sister when she needed him most. “I’ll come stay with you,” he says in a rush. “We can work opposite shifts. She’ll never be alone.”
Chimney gives him a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I appreciate the offer, Buckaroo. If all we needed was another set of hands, we could always ask Albert. But with how Maddie is feeling now, she might not appreciate being crowded. The way she talks...I have to be honest, it scares me.”
“You don’t have to protect me from her. She’s my sister.”
“You’re welcome to visit, Buck. You can try, but it’s not going to be a simple fix. It might take time to work through. Months.”
“Tell us what you need, Chimney,” Bobby says.
“If it’s all right with you, Cap, I’d like to request paternity leave.”
“I’ll get you the paperwork,” Bobby promises, “At the end of this shift. But informally, request granted.”
The next morning, Buck drives home in a daze, thoughts swirling. It can never be just one thing. Sometimes his life feels like a series of injuries, extending to everyone around him.
He inserts his key into the front door. Christopher is at school. The house is quiet, save for the distant sound of running water coming from Eddie’s shower. He slides out of his shoes and drops his gym bag on the couch, then hears the muffled thunk of something hitting the shower floor. A few choice curses follow. Buck can’t help the smile it brings to his lips.
He knocks on the bathroom door. The water turns off. “Everything okay in there?”
“...more or less,” Eddie responds.
“Can I come in?” Buck asks and waits for Eddie’s consent before entering the cloud of steam.
The shower curtain is swept to the side. Eddie is standing in the tub, towel wrapped around his waist. There’s a bottle of body wash tipped on its side, green gel oozing against fiberglass, running down the drain. Buck bends down slowly, reaches past Eddie’s legs to grab the offending object. He caps it and puts it back on the shelf.
“All done?” he asks, straightening.
“Guess so,” Eddie says. His face has grown more stubbled than Buck has seen since Eddie’s first year with the 118. He turns his head, and Buck can spy a patch of soap caked behind his right ear.
“Missed a spot,” he chuckles, gesturing.
Eddie groans. “It’s hard to reach. Shoulder is killing me.”
“I can help, if you want.”
Eddie thinks on it a moment before nodding. Just as Buck is about to suggest that he lean over the sink, Eddie surprises him. He unhooks the towel knotted at his waist, allows it to fall away.
It takes everything in Buck to silence the gasp before it leaves his lips. If Eddie notices the shock on his face, he doesn’t say anything. He turns the knob, and the showerhead resumes its spray.
Buck unbuttons his own shirt, strips down to the tank underneath. “Lean forward,” he says, voice rough around the edges.
Eddie complies, ducking his head out of the water. Buck grabs the shampoo and squeezes some into his hands, then lathers it into Eddie’s hair. Eddie sighs as Buck’s fingernails dig into his scalp. His thumbs press against Eddie’s temples in circular motion.
“Lean back.”
Eddie does. Buck rinses the suds, then repeats the process with conditioner, until Eddie’s hair runs like silk between his fingertips.
After bringing Eddie home, when Ana never visited, Buck asked about her, nonchalant.
“We’re taking some time apart, I think,” Eddie said. He shrugged like it didn’t bother him, and Buck didn’t press for more details.
So when Buck turns off the water, and Eddie looks up at him through wet lashes, there are things that no longer feel so unattainable. The hint of a thought of a possibility he didn’t know he wanted.
Buck reaches a trembling hand to Eddie’s shoulder. Uncovered, his gunshot wound is still an angry color, but mending. Buck trails an index finger around its border, permits himself to follow the line of Eddie’s clavicle, to the back of his neck.
Eddie drifts into his space until their foreheads are touching, damp against dry. Breathing the same air.
“Thank you,” Eddie says.
“For what?” Buck murmurs. The movement causes their noses to brush. Droplets of water slip from the ends of Eddie’s hair and travel down the side of Buck’s face, off his chin.
Love has never come easy for him. Somewhere along the line, he started believing it was something you had to fight for, tooth and nail. He fell out of trees and broke bones to win it from his parents. And in every relationship since, he’s repeated the same sorts of grand gestures, regardless of whether they were matched in kind.
Love is hard work. There’s truth to that. But it’s not something to force, not if the other person isn’t willing.
With some minor bumps along the way, things with Eddie have always been simple. One day, they were two separate people, vying for superiority, and the next, they were a pair. Buck has never felt like he was demanding more than Eddie was able to give. It’s why he doesn’t want their friendship to be another casualty in the line of Buck’s reckless longing.
Buck listens to the sound of Eddie’s breath. It’s enough to know that he’s alive. That Buck gets to keep him. He tells himself the risk is too great. There’s no reason to be selfish, to ask for anything else. He lets his hand drop from Eddie’s neck, falling back.
But Buck also remembers what Taylor told him while standing in a suburban neighborhood, waiting for a man to climb down from a roof. Let the universe come to you. And Buck supposes that’s what happens, when Eddie chases him over the lip of the tub.
They stumble together, into the bathroom door. Eddie is naked, pressed to Buck’s fully-clothed front, and Buck knows he has to be blushing. Eddie’s wet feet squelch against the tile floor, as he allows Buck to take his weight, to claim him in a hug. One of them is shaking, or maybe it’s both of them.
Eddie’s grip is tight around Buck’s hip, and Buck’s arms are firm against Eddie’s ribs, and they’re saying the same thing.
Don’t leave.
Buck wraps Eddie’s waist in a dry towel, ignoring the puddles soaking into the bathroom grout, and ushers him back to his bedroom.
Eddie sits on the corner of his bed as Buck digs through his drawers for fresh clothes. He comes back with a t-shirt, underwear, and drawstring shorts, all in soft cotton. And a comb.
Eddie lets Buck run its plastic teeth through his hair, parting in the way Eddie normally wears it. He can’t remember the last time he was taken care of like this. In childhood maybe, bent over the kitchen sink as his mother gave him a summer trim.
He startles when Buck presses a kiss to Eddie’s right shoulder, above the gauze and tape, then one lower, to the skin below the incision where the doctors fed the tube to drain Eddie’s chest cavity. And Eddie’s not at risk of drowning in his own blood anymore, but it’s hard to catch his breath all the same.
Buck is on his knees before him, clutching Eddie’s right hand, the one that pawed uselessly at the asphalt as he lay vulnerable, eyes locked with Buck’s until the black spots crowded his vision. Buck guides the fingers to his lips, then dips lower, kissing the bare skin of his thigh.
“Buck,” Eddie says on a sharp inhale.
“I love you,” Buck sighs, in the same tone one might report on mid-day traffic. A simple fact.
He backs away, giving Eddie room to change into his clothes. Before he can think of going any further, Eddie pulls him back to the bed. They sprawl out sideways, legs dangling off the edge. Buck arm drapes across his torso.
“Maddie isn’t doing well,” Buck says, unprompted. “Her doctor is thinking it’s postpartum depression.”
“I’m sorry,” says Eddie. “You know, my mother went through that with me?”
“Oh?”
He nods. “Obviously, I can’t remember any of it. My father was traveling a lot back then, for work. But eventually, they got her on medication. I think therapy helped too. Mental illness has always been...kind of taboo in my family. That made it extra hard for her, not having the right support system. It’s lucky that won’t be the case for your sister.”
“I just wish I’d seen it sooner,” Buck admits. “If I wasn’t always so focused on myself, maybe I could have done something to help.”
Eddie frowns. “Is that really what you think of yourself?”
“Sometimes. I’m trying to be better.”
“That goes for everyone,” Eddie says. “But Buck...I think you do better than most.”
“Mm, dunno.”
“You care about how other people feel. You make the effort. That’s why I like having you here. It’s why I trust you around Christopher,” he says, “That’s why...it’s easy to love you.”
Eddie waits for an answer that doesn’t come. “Buck?”
But Buck doesn’t respond. He’s already asleep.
Eddie wakes in the afternoon glow. The time on Buck’s watch reads just after two o’clock. Buck is still glued to his side, mouth open, snoring gently.
“Buck,” he nudges. “Get up. It’s time to pick up Christopher.”
Buck jolts. “I’m up, I’m up.” He yawns, stretching. The movement has his tank top riding high up on his stomach. He looks back down at Eddie.
“Hi,” says Eddie.
“Hey.” Buck grins, a little bashful. He props himself on an elbow, closing the space between them slowly, testing. Eddie hears the click of his own throat as he swallows.
“So you love me,” Eddie says casually.
“That okay?” Buck asks.
The feeling is half familiar and half brand new. He knows Buck, how much Buck means to him. He doesn’t have to question the motivations of his heart.
His stomach swoops under the pressure of Buck’s hand. Eddie hasn’t built back much strength in his shoulder, but he’s still able to meet Buck halfway.